By His Bedside
by TantalumCobolt
Summary: Will gets himself almostbutnotquite killed (again) and his teammates and friends visit him in the hospital.


**AN: I can't believe I'm back again so soon! This fic is written a bit differently from my others but I hope it's enjoyable none the less.**

**Unbeta'd (as usual) so if anyone would like to beta my fics just leave me a message :)**

**Next fic will probably be up in a few weeks because of this pesky thing called school that has to happen *sigh***

**Until next time! And happy reading :)**

Surprisingly, Natasha is his first visitor. Or maybe it's not surprising. Every time he can remember being in the hospital (and he'll admit that there are a few times he can't remember) she's been there when he wakes up. Her being here now though... it should be surprising. Even through his drug and pain filled haze he knows that she's not supposed to be here. For the life of him he can't remember why though.

Even though he doesn't mean to, he thinks he must say some of this out loud (but maybe he doesn't) because then her fingers are running lightly over the bandage around his hesd and she's murmuring in Russian. He doesn't catch all of what she says, just a few words; "Complete... flight... back... for you... idiot..."

Then he's drifting again. Floating on a sea of painkillers in a world of shadows. At some point he thinks he's aware of doctors coming in to check vitals and fiddle with IVs and give (false?) reassurances that he's going to be okay.

(He doesn't feel like he's going to be okay.)

(With the amount of drugs in his system he doesn't fee much of anything.)

The shadows become darker and the sea become more violent and he's trapped in a storm of pain and hurt and tired and confused (and loved). There is the feather touch of lips on his toowarmtoocold forehead and the shadows turn to pearly white mist and the sea become calm again. He drifts.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

The next time he sortofkindofmaybe wakes Natasha is gone. The person at his bedside is male and blond and frowning slightly as he works on his laptop.

_Benji,_ he thinks.

The IMF agent doesn't look up from his taptaptapping of the computer keys while he watches him through slitted eyes. The room is dim and too bright at the same time and he stops trying to see because his head is pounding and it's easier just to ignore the world. He drifts some more.

There's the sound of a chair on tile and then a hand on his arm and he thinks he hears someone (Benji?) whisper; "you're gonna be fine."

(He doesn't feel like he's gonna be fine.)

Then the warm touch of flesh is carried away by the sound of loudquiet footfalls. The dark sea calls. He follows.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

He thinks he's dreaming when awarenes next comes. There's no pain this time but everything is fuzzy and fading around the edges. He thinks maybe he's hallucinating. Tony Stark is sitting on one side of his bed and Steve Rogers is sitting on the other. They're not touching him and they're not looking at each other and they're so still he thinks they're not real.

"Why?" He croaks out. (Why would they come to visit him?)

Steve looks up and smiles when he sees he's awake. "Hey, Will," the super soldier says. "It's good to see you awake."

Steve says other things too. "Head" and "injury" and "dehydrated" and "coma" and "thank god" and "worried" and throughout it all he keeps repeating "you're going to be alright".

(He doesn't feel like he's going to be alright.)

He closes his eyes at some point and just listens to the soothing hum of Steve's voice. Someone is toying with the machines (and he only just notices the beep beep beep that tells him he's alive). Tony, probably. The billionaire can't keep his hands still for long.

He drifts; more awake than asleep this time. Eventually the soothing hum stops and the toying stops. They don't leave together. He drifts; more asleep than awake this time.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

Voices pull him from sleep (unconsciousness?). Two male voices; one low and familiar, the other quiet and professional. He thinks they might be arguing. He doesn't open his eyes to check.

The pain is back and it hurtshurtshurtshurts (_make it stop_) and he wants to go back to floating in the sea because the sea is peaceful and nice and quiet and this is grating and loud and-

_Beepbeepbeepbeep. _Is it supposed to be going that fast?

_Thump thumpthump thumpthumpthumpthump. _His heart rate is too fast. It's too hard to breath. The voices pause but then they're back and it's so much louder. So much nearer. So much- too much- Why won't they stop?

(Why is he panicking?)

"Get out." He knows that voice. It's calm and grounding and it sounds like his (is it his? No, he doesn't think it is) and he latches onto it. The other voices stop but they don't go anywhere. He can feel them hovering.

"I said get out, doc." He loves that voice. "You too, Ethan."

The quiet an professional voice leaves. The low and familiar voice (_Ethan_) kicks up a fuss. Then it leaves too.

It's blissful and quiet. He lets himself drift.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

He expects Jane to stop by. She doesn't. (Or maybe he's just asleep (unconscious) when she does.)

There are flowers, though. He doesn't think they were there last time but they're here now and they're bright and colourful and sweeten the room with their scent. It reminds him of being at home in his mother's garden. It's pleasant.

Vaguely he's aware of the whirring of a fan and the cool air whispering across his toohottoocold skin.

He drifts. And this time the sea is glowing golden and the scent of flowers floats on the wind.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

Thor visits next. He hadn't expected him to but the deep male voice is unmistakably that of the Asgardian thunder god. He spares a moment to be thankful that Thor is speaking lowly because his head and body and everything is aching and he doesn't think he can handle loud right now.

There's a dull buzzing in his ears (or is that the machines?) but he can hear snatches of conversation.

"Sorry..." Why is Thor sorry? "Wish... could help... brother... but... can't heal... no knowledge... Midgardian medicine..."

There's no response. Thor apologises again then falls silent. He drifts. He thinks that maybe Thor leaves but it's too much effort to know for sure.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

His hand is lightheavy and warm when consciousness returns. And wet. (Why is it wet?) There are two figures huddled together beside the hardsoft bed. One of them (both of them?) is sobbing.

_I'm sorry mum,_ he thinks, _I didn't mean to._

_"_He almost died, Arnold." Her voice is sadbrokentearful. He want's to reassure her that he's going to get better but his eyes are sososo heavy and his voice won't work. (He doesn't want to lie to her.)

So he lies there silent and unmoving and listens to her sobs. (_I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.) _And all the while he feels the steady drip drip drip of tears on hands. His hand. Her hand. Wrapped around each other because she's afraid he'll disappearvanishdie if she lets go.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

Mum and dad are gone but there's another person in the room. Silent and watchful and closebutnotclose. He thinks hesheit stands in the doorway. He doesn't feel threatened (should he?) so he doesn't care.

The room is dark. He decides he doesn't like the dark. He drifts. It doesn't last long.

The person doesn't move but hesheit speaks. Five words. "You're expected back on duty tomorrow." He doesn't think hesheit (eyepatch?) is talking to him so he goes back to drifting.

Drifting is... uncomplicated. He likes uncomplicated.

(And throughout it all his brother is a steady presence in the corner of the room.)

He wakes up. No more shadows or fuzzy edges or voices or realnotreal visitors. He wakes up and he knows it's real.

There is a weight beside him and when he peers down through sleep crusted lids he sees an arm (not his, but identical) across his stomach. There's warm breath against his neck and hair tickles his lips when he turns his head to look at the face (not his, but identical) pressed into his collarbone. He smiles.

The door opens and he lifts his finger to his lips when his glazed brown eyes meet those of the nurse in the doorway. Her eyes (pretty pretty blue eyes) land on the body beside him and she nods. He watches her check his chart and make notes in purple pen then change his IV bag and check the persistently beeping machines.

"You had us all worried, Mr Brandt," she whispers. She nods towards the (identical) body beside him. "Him especially. He's barely moved all week."

He watches with tired eyes as she checks his temperature. "We weren't sure you were going to wake up after the first two days," she continues. Will lifts his hand to cover the one resting on his hip. "I'm glad you did. I don't think he could survive without you."

It's a discussion they've had many times before. They always say they'll be fine without each other (alone) but they both know it's not true.

The nurse keeps up her quiet monologue as she turns knobs and presses buttons on the machines and jots more notes on the clipboard at the end of his bed. "They all told me you two are identical. I said I wouldn't believe it until I could see your matching eyes myself. I-"

"How long?" He doesn't even realise he's spoken. His voice is so hoarse and dry that he doesn't even recognise it. The effort to say those two little words exhausts him and he sinks further back into the pillows.

Her smile is a little less bright. "A week, sweetie. You were in a coma for a week."

He wants to ask what happened because he doesn't remember (and that frightens him more than anything else at this moment) but he's mostly sure she won't know the real story (only the 'official' one). So he just nods and closes his eyes. He turns slightly onto his side and moves the hand at his hip up to his chest, tangling his fingers with the identical ones on the other hand.

He doesn't drift anymore. He sleeps.

(And throughout it all Clint snores softly on the bed beside him.)

**As always, thanks for reading and feel free to leave story suggestions in a review!**

**-TaCo**


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